


Chiaroscuro

by InsaniaTorn



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Father Figures, Fluff and Angst, Light Bondage, Novelization, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prophetic Dreams, Religious Conflict, Self-Acceptance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, quest spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:11:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaniaTorn/pseuds/InsaniaTorn
Summary: During the end times, the Prophetess was held as a beacon of holy light. A guardian sent by Malphas to save the pious.While the Endrealians were often quite good at creating a simple dichotomy, it was obvious that Kalika was not their perfect saviour. Young, foreign and pathless, she was the exact opposite of what a desperate people needed. Being an idealist at heart though, she would try. But in trial, there is error. In error, there is darkness awaiting those who cannot handle what they have become. It was somehow fitting that the only one who could see this was a sellsword who really, really, didn't want to care.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Chiaroscuro is an oil painting technique that uses contrasts between light and darkness for a dramatic, three-dimensional effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my Enderal fic! This is intended to be a novelisation of sorts about my first character in Enderal. I hope it's an enjoyable read--I'm not done with my playthrough yet, but I found the storyline to be so immersive and well-done that I just *had* to start writing. Also Jespar <3
> 
> Song lyrics: 'Deviate from the form' by Scar Symmetry!

* * *

_Some words will trigger certain acts._  
_Belief in limitations we have learnt—some acts will trigger certain states_  
_I'm taking back what I gave away._

 _I'm changing,_  
_You're changing,_  
_We're changing from within._

 _Deviate from the form of nothing,_  
_Deviate from the norm to something._  
_Deviate from the form of nothing,_  
_I deviate, farewell to the tribe._

 _Soul volcano, now erupting—lava swallows what used to be_  
_Soul tsunami, overflowing:_  
_Overriding reality._

* * *

 

 

_Breathe._

The words echoed in her mind as she trudged forward, the old, too-big robe around her shoulders sagging with dampness. The elderly Apothecarius—Finn—looked on with concern. His lilting voice was muted and dim as he told her to sit; his companion’s protest was slurred. She blinked and shook her head as if trying to clear it—which quickly became apparent that it was a bad move. With a lurch of her stomach, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply.

“Gruntroot, gruntroot…” he murmured, rummaging through his pack. “Ah, here it is.”

She stared fixedly at the alembic as he worked, trying to keep her meagre meal of apples and bread where it was.  
“Finn, the still!”

The crack and accompanying flash of light that ensued was blinding. Kalika held on to the seat of her chair, swallowing convulsively as waves of nausea rolled over her. The scene unfolded like her dreams did—with spectral, otherworldly figures that ghosted between reality and the ethereal.

_“They—they got me.”_

_“Do something! Do  something damn it!”_

The sudden silence was almost equally deafening. Finn was looking a bit put off as he brushed the glass shards out of his robe. His sour companion was still complaining—but it was brushed off with a light-hearted jab by the old man. He smiled kindly as he placed the potion into her shaking hands.

“By Malphas, are you alright?” he asked with concern. “You look like you’ve seen the Black Guardian himself!”

The girl downed the potion and closed her eyes, willing herself to not vomit.

Her voice was tentative and unsteady. “You—you didn’t see that explosion, did you? Or hear the voices?”

“Mydame, I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about,” Finn’s brow creased slightly. “I really think you should be looked at by a proper priest in the village—“

“Fuck, I think I see something,” Carbos rose from his chair to peer into the darkness. “Finn—“

His next words were cut off by the meaty crack of an arrow hitting him squarely in the shoulder. He seemed almost surprised—the pain only beginning to register on his face when another sank deep into his chest. As if in slow motion, his body crumpled to the floor as he gasped.

He was in disbelief as he faded. “They—they got me.”

Finn ran across towards his partner, desperately trying to pull him away from the line of fire. He looked back to Kalika, who was frozen.

“Do something! Do something damn it!”

Her mouth opened to warn him, but the loud, familiar crack shot through the night air, wiping everything blank. For once, she slipped into a dreamless abyss.

\----

Jespar’s hand closed around his dagger as he secreted himself through the carnage. The bandits had picked the place clean. The younger Apothecarius was all but obliterated by the blast, with little left but charred gobbets of flesh—the older man was more intact, but still quite obviously dead. He turned the corpse over with his foot and hissed a little at the sight. Yeah, certainly dead. You can’t really survive with three quarters of your face missing.

His alert cornflower blue eyes combed the perimeter, seeking anything of use that was left. They were both never going to need their things now anyway, right? The sight of boot in the thicket sent him out of his reverie and into business mode. He slowly edged towards the bramble, keeping his weapon ready. The boot’s owner was alive, but barely. A woman?

Jespar shifted slightly to push the hair out of her face and paused.

_Well now. She’s definitely not from here._

Her face was lined with tiny scratches from the impact, but otherwise, it was unmarred. She had delicate Kilénian features, with the toasty, sun-kissed skin to match. As gently and propitiously as he could, he ran his hands over her small frame to check for any obvious injuries. He found none—but as his palm brushed her face, he instantly noticed the fever. Given how completely drained she looked, he would bet that it was Arcanist’s fever. She stirred feebly at his touch and murmured something.

Jespar sighed and sheathed his dagger; he lifted her out of the brambles with ease. She really was quite petite—young too, actually. She had probably seen only twenty winters, if that. Why was it that his life kept getting more and more complicated? He trudged up the stone steps and through the narrow dirt path, resting her onto his bedroll as softly as he could manage. He pulled out a well-worn pipe from his pack as he sat at the fire; the sun was rising across the vast landscape and a chill was beginning to work its way through his layers of armour. Studying the girl’s face, he took a thoughtful drag of smoke. There weren’t many outlanders in Enderal these days—especially not here, so far away from Ark. And to find one with Arcanist’s fever to boot? Jespar wanted to let out a sardonic chuckle. Of course, this would happen to him now. He thought back to his fruitless trip to see Adila; he’d certainly have to devote far more time to finding her.

He sighed.

_What did the Wise Hermit say?_

_Never bank on a straightforward path._

The girl stirred again.

_Especially with women._

\----

Kalika opened her eyes slowly, feeling as though her body was weighed down by a sack of iron. The dizzy feeling was gone, but she still felt the same strange malaise. Where was she? Her vision cleared after a few blinks, leaving her staring up at a worn tent ceiling. She cautiously crawled out, noting that  her scavenged sword was nowhere to be found. She froze as she peeked through the open flap; a man was busily roasting fish over a small campfire, while humming to himself. He was taller than most men she was used to seeing in Nehrim—though he could have been average for Enderalian standards. Broad-shouldered and clad in chainmail and leather, he was obviously something beyond a simple traveller. She shifted slightly to get a good look at his face; he seemed to be in his thirties or so, with strangely aristocratic features that were marred by a few scars across his right side. There was a small smile playing on his lips as he turned one of the fish over.

“You know, you could get a better look if you came out here.”

She started and felt the colour rise on her cheeks; exiting the tent as gracefully as she could manage, she stayed close to the cliff face behind her, wondering whether her new-found magic skills would return if she needed them.

“You’re finally awake, that’s good,” he straightened up and stretched lightly. “You were out for a couple hours. My name is Jespar Dal’Verik,” he said with a bow, “and before you ask, yes the bandits killed the Apothecarii.”

Kalika felt her heart drop. More people who’d come into contact with her and died. “I see.”

“That blast sent you flying into the bushes, which is probably the only reason you’re alive. Most of your injuries were superficial, and I’ve taken care of them,” he said matter-of-factly. “So, who are you?”

“Kalika,” she said quietly. She forcefully kept her mind from wandering to the events of the previous day, settling for staring at the fire instead.

“That’s all I get, not even a last name?” he asked playfully.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she shook her head slightly again, trying to force her thoughts back into order. “Vujiic is my family name.”

“Matches the accent,” he observed. “You’re Nehrimese.”

She nodded. The world was beginning to blur slightly again.

“Come sit down by the fire before you fall over,” he beckoned, lightly guiding her with one arm as she clumsily made her way over.

“How do you know all this?” she asked. “Were you there when we were attacked?”

“Suffice it to say I was on the perimeter—and no, I didn’t help. Two reasons, really: one, I was outnumbered like crazy; two, I am also in a happy relationship with my entrails.”

She stared at him with a vague look of disbelief.

Well, he was an odd one. At least if he’d wanted to kill her, she would have already been dead, she supposed.

“Yeah, I wish I had a more heroic answer for you, but I don’t, I’m sorry.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” she murmured. “Can’t really complain much.”

She jumped slightly when he reached over and briefly placed a calloused palm on her forehead.

“That fever of yours,” he began, passing her his waterskin. “I’m surprised the old Apothecarius didn’t notice what it was. It’s first degree Arcanist’s fever.”

Kalika took a grateful sip. “What?”

“You’re suddenly capable of doing things you only knew about in bards’ songs, am I right?”

There was a pause. How much should she tell him? She looked up at his somewhat carefree and calm expression and felt a tad out of her depth. What could it hurt?

“Yes, I can suddenly do magic and wield a blade.”

“And you’re feeling unusually strong and dizzy at the same time—but drinking herbal potions leave a sort of ‘bitter feeling’ in your head?”

She nodded. “So this…fever—this is why I can do these things?”

“Your magical talent has broken free. I don’t have any myself, but I’ve worked with enough arcanists to know the signs. To put it simply, your body can’t cope with the magic,” he took the fish off the fire. “It’s not a problem at first, but if you don’t do anything about it, in a couple of months, you’ll be running through the Heartland naked, throwing fireballs at everything that moves.”

Colour rose in her cheeks again and he chuckled. “It…can be treated, right?”

“Yes, of course. But you’re magically gifted, so some things are going to worsen the fever as well. Certain herbs and ‘magically contaminated’ areas are troublesome for you magic wielders. Your powers make you stronger, but they also make you sensitive to other things. You need something called Ambrosia to truly get rid of the fever when it begins to develop.”

Kalika paused. “What about these…visions?”

A crease appeared between his brows. “Visions?”

“That’s what I call them, anyway. I see things that are about to happen—like right before the Apothecarii died, I saw it. Are these things a side effect of the fever?”

Jespar’s face became increasingly concerned. “No, none that I know of. The only visions I ever had were off a good pipe of peaceweed, to be honest.  I do know someone who could help you though—and take care of that fever.” He passed her one of the roasted fish. “But in return, I want you to tell me _everything._ How did you get here and what did you do in that temple? And what exactly did you see in those visions?” He touched her face lightly, holding her chin so that he could get a good look at her. “I…can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something strange about you, and that makes me curious. So, healing for information, what do you say?”

She ignored the flush that rose at his touch. “That seems fair.”

“Good, now eat. You can tell me about it after.”

\----

  
“So this boy was close to you?”

“He was like family,” Kalika murmured. “We had a rough life, but we survived it—we supported each other.”

“And you wanted a better life,”

She sighed. “We wanted to be free. Nehrim is a cold place when you’ve lost everything. It’s not somewhere to build a life.”

“What did you do there?”

“After my tenth winter I took up work in a rich household,” she paused and took a small bite of her fish. She was quite _proper_. “I was educated enough to be put in a position under one of the ladies of the house. Sirius was a stable hand, and I taught him how to read.”

Jespar sipped his water. Not a life he was totally able to understand, but it wasn’t an uncommon story. It was likely that they wanted to come here, find a little piece of countryside and build a life together.

“The Captain of the ship killed him, but she didn’t kill me,” Kalika said bitterly. “She tied us together, because she wanted me to drown.”

He let out a deep sigh. “My condolences for your loss.” The lad was probably floating somewhere off the coast by now. ”So, you survived the execution and while you were being washed up on shore…you had a dream where you saw burnt bodies and a blinding light?”

“It didn’t feel like a dream though—it felt like a memory. The temple I saw there was the same temple in the valley. Do you understand? I feel like I’m not making much sense.”

“No, I think I get it. So your ‘magical outburst’ didn’t happen gradually as it usually does, but ended up happening all of a sudden after a near-death experience? And with it came these visions?” Jespar gave his close-cropped beard a pensive stroke.

“Essentially.”

“Well, I know you’re aware of how absurd it all sounds…but I believe you. Heck knows why, but I do,” he told her reassuringly. “I’ll introduce you to my employer—if anyone can help you, it’s him.”

The girl nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

“So, what happened to you?” he asked flatly. “You’re obviously learned and cultured in some way. How does someone like that end up desperately trying to find freedom here?”

Her face darkened slightly. “My family died.”

He wanted to press her as to  _how_ but the look she had in her eyes forbade any inquiry. There was this inexplicable air about her—as though she was not entirely what she seemed. Given her newly-found powers and these ‘visions’, it was likely that she was a complicated case, but that was not the whole story. She finished her fish and looked at him with a measured glance.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but isn’t ‘Dal’ a noble title?” she smiled slightly. “Not something you’d expect on a sellsword.”

He chuckled. “Well spotted. Yes, I am Sublime by my path, but you should ignore that little detail. I’m not a big fan of titles—they’re usually a way for boring people to feel superior to others.”

“So ignored,” she said with a nod.

“If you’re up to it though,” he looked up at the sky, gauging the sun’s position. “I could use your hand with the job I’m running. The sooner we get that done, the sooner we can journey to Ark. I know you’re not too familiar with this place, but it shouldn’t be dangerous.”

“Alright,” she said uncertainly. “But who is this employer of yours?”

His smile widened. “Well aren’t you curious—I like that.” The girl turned slightly pink again. “I work for the Holy Order.”

“The military unit of the Gods?” she gaped.

“Well, yes, but it’s also the spiritual and judicial centre of the country. Believe me, you’ll see them yourself soon enough,” he said somewhat wryly. “But now onto our predicament here: you’ve noticed that the world has essentially gone to hell in a handbasket within the past few years, right?”

“Of course,”

“Now, being reclusive, Enderal isn’t directly affected by these wars going on all over the place—but there are strange things happening too. Take the Vatyrs for example—those strange humanoid goat men? They’ve been attacking more and more wanderers out in the open. Then we have the Lost Ones, the living dead; before they were quite the rare magical phenomenon…but now any uncremated corpse just gets up and fucking walks off.”

The girl paled slightly but nodded. “That’s indeed pretty concerning.”

“The strangest thing, however, is called the ‘Red Madness’…” he said. As he explained the phenomenon, he noted the strange look on her face. It was almost as though she’d seen something like it.

“Do you think this all has something to do with this talk of the Light Born being dead?”

“Oh—those rumours. I’ve heard them too, and I’d imagine there could be a connection, yes.”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Then you believe someone has killed them? I was expecting some sort of _righteous rebuttal_.”

He scoffed with a smile. “As I said, it all could be related. If you ask me, the Light Born were nothing more than false gods anyway. Deified by the adoring masses.”

“And here I thought the Endraleans were the most pious people in the civilised world,” she said.

“Well—don’t take me as an example; I’ve seen that long life is just one of the things that powerful magic can do. The ‘false deity’ isn’t a particularly new theory, but don’t hold your breath for many others to express the same opinion. Even to talk about it as we’re doing is a crime,” he explained. “Maybe it might be better that way—I don’t know how a spiritual crisis would affect the country right now.”

“That bad?”

“The place is practically in chaos,” he admitted. “Most folks are turning to religion more and more to make sense of it. But seriously: let’s say the Light Born were really mighty and omnipresent. Wouldn’t they have the power to smite me here and now for my hubris? They’re powerful mages, no more, no less—that’s how I see it, though. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings,” he added hastily.

Dark eyes lifted skyward and she grinned. “Still waiting on that smiting.”

For the first time in a while, he found himself laughing with genuine feeling. If he believed in fate, he would have wondered if it was finally taking a minuscule turn his way.


End file.
